9781618853011NoHoldsBarredChelcee

by Unknown

  He wouldn’t.

  He got what he wanted all the way around, a license to have sex by. He’d forgotten one very important element though. In Reno, divorces were as quickly obtained as marriage licenses.

  Or maybe he did know.

  God, she just wanted to forget, forget their marriage, and forget him. She snorted. Forget? Hell, she hadn’t forgotten a single thing. That was the problem.

  She remembered a long, jagged scar inside his left thigh, high, near his—she flinched. She remembered the scar, one among many.

  Heat seeped into her face as she remembered just how she’d discovered the silver one inside his thigh. A horse with a loose shoe had kicked him. The head of one of the horseshoe nails had been razor sharp, gouging a path in his groin.

  At least that’s what he’d told her. It looked more like a knife cut to her, but she hadn’t questioned his story. He was entitled to his secrets. She had a few of her own. She recalled ribbons of thin scars networked across his back. Scars he refused to discuss.

  And yet, there had been an open honesty in the deep velvet of his eyes. An honesty that said silently ask me anything. I won’t lie. Shadows lay hidden in his dark eyes, memories and secrets he balked at sharing.

  Yet, he’d barged into her life wanting to know all of hers. Not that she’d shared any.

  He knew enough about her already.

  He was everything a woman could wish for and then some. But she had no wishes left.

  The reality of it was—they were two strangers who’d been caught up in the moment and shared a night together, end of story.

  He didn’t love her.

  She didn’t love him.

  They’d fallen in lust with the help of a little beer and tequila.

  No one had a future based on an itch intensified by booze. Once the hankering for sex burned itself out, nothing was left except liquid courage to glue things together.

  She refused to think about him anymore. She never wanted to lay eyes on the cowboy again.

  Lifting her chin, she marched into the casino with far more determination and courage than she felt. She paused to search for the location of the private elevator Duel described.

  Please, God, just give me a chance. Let the cowboy with the velvet black eyes be gone and never return. Just once, let things go my way and help me get this job.

  She made her way past the casino’s opulent lobby. The elegant gold swirls sculpted in the pattern of the dark red carpet on the floor caught her eye, but she didn’t have time to stop and admire it. She passed the front desk to her left, where people stood in long lines to checkout. She ignored the constant ka-ching of the slot machines, and the rapid ding-ding-ding signifying a winner.

  Hordes of people pressed their way up and down the casino isles searching for their favorite slot machine or a vacant chair at a gaming table, eager to gamble away their earnings. Exiting guests toted their luggage behind them, looking both excited and shell-shocked, soon to be replaced with new arrivals who would wear the same looks on their faces.

  The stale smell of cigarette smoke and the ripe odor of an endless supply of booze floated on the air. Cocktail waitresses strolled past carrying trays laden with drinks, empty glasses, beer bottles, and most importantly, their tips. Their skimpy costumes were designed to reveal long legs covered with fishnet stockings and abundant breasts.

  She couldn’t imagine walking for eight hours in the crippling high-heeled shoes, catering to customers whose faces were flushed with the intake of booze and the zealous desire to win big.

  A small crowd whooped with laughter and applauded some lucky winner at a dice table. A Patsy Cline impersonator stood on a platform lip-syncing. The music was loud, the crowd boisterous.

  The constant clamor of slot machines and sudden whoops of thrilled winners aggravated her hangover. She pushed her way through the maze of people. Her mind felt fractured, her thoughts scattered. She couldn’t concentrate on anything. Duh!

  Behind all the dark emotional clouds hanging over her and her brother, there had to be at least one cloud with a positive aspect. Just one. Somewhere. This job with J.D. Remington was her positive aspect, the answer to her prayers. It gave her and Taylor the chance to start over away from Reno, away from Smitt and his constant threats. The proverbial thorn in her side, the loan shark terrified her.

  Smoothing down the silver tresses that swung down her back, she made her way to the secluded elevator, the path concealed by huge potted plants just as Duel had described. Neither Duel nor Taylor knew Smitt was a threat to her. She’d decided it would not do for either of them to know of his constant bullying and scare tactics.

  There was nothing her brother could do to help the situation and possible he’d only make it worse. She didn’t want Duel involved. It was none of his business. She didn’t doubt for a moment Smitt knew a lot of scum in Reno. He was worse than a rabid wolf—mean and dangerous and unpredictable. He wouldn’t hesitate to injure a physically handicapped man like her brother.

  And Duel’s wealth couldn’t protect any of them.

  She couldn’t bear for anything to happen to either of them because of her. A wistful smile touched her lips. She needed a chance, just one chance. Maybe, Lady Luck would be on her side today.

  Her gaze drifted toward the lounge as the memory of the cowboy’s dark eyes rose to haunt her. Butterflies skittered through her stomach before she realized he wasn’t there. “Don’t be stupid,” she muttered, and ignored the twinge of disappointment. Halting in front of the elevator Duel instructed her to use, she slid the key-card into the slot. What a sorry shape she was in, so desperate for love she searched for a stranger who’d given her a few hours of comfort and pleasure. A stranger she was having a difficult time forgetting.

  Last night, she’d silently damned the consequences and allowed him to sweep her away from the lounge. She hadn’t voiced a single objection, and the title from a Dixie Chicks song, Cowboy, Take Me Away, drifted through her bemused mind.

  Oh, yeah! He’d certainly done that. He took her away and beyond the moon and stars. His dark gypsy eyes, so demanding, fascinated her. The tequila she’d consumed stirred her blood, made her hot, and left her tingling for something she wasn’t familiar with.

  She cringed at the thought of what he must think of her—believed her capable of doing. A slut. He must think she was a slut, willing to give herself to the first handsome man who came along.

  She closed her eyes. In her mind, she could still see the craggy planes of his muscular chest defined by the expensive wine colored western shirt that clung so snugly to his broad chest, the intriguing granite lines of his lean jaw. Thick black lashes barely concealed his raw hunger for her.

  For sure, the cowboy was a big problem.

  From the moment she looked into his ebony eyes, she’d felt shaken. She shouldn’t have ignored the silent warning in her mind. The common sense she credited herself with having, had urged her to leave the lounge, to get as far away from him as possible, and forget she ever saw him.

  The woman in her whispered, Stay. Linger. Savor. Take the risk.

  Well, she’d left the lounge, all right—on the arm of the sexy cowboy.

  And she’d stayed. Lingered. Definitely savored.

  God, had she savored. And the risks—were there.

  Damn it, anyway. How stupid and reckless could she be? What if she was pregnant?

  The last thing she needed was a child even within a sanctified marriage.

  She searched her mind for dates and realized she was probably in trouble. Just her luck. In that case, she’d never be free of the daring cowboy. A shiver of anticipation slid over her.

  Even now, she pictured the dark curls that had escaped the confines of the Stetson cocked on the back of his head. The top snap of his shirt had been unfastened. She distinctly remembered how her fingers itched to touch him, to curve into the thick black whorls of hair on his chest she’d seen sprouting above the shirt at his throat.

  He
’d appeared so relaxed, as if he belonged where he was, astraddle the barstool. But he also had the look of someone who spent a great deal of time in the sunshine. His hands were very tanned and strong looking. Obviously he had the strength to control the horses she trained and would be just as comfortable astride one.

  No, he wasn’t an urban cowboy. He was the real deal.

  He’d looked good in the faded denim of his jeans, jeans that had hugged his firm butt—he’d looked even better with them off—she purposely brought her thoughts to a standstill.

  Reno was a large city. People came and went by the thousands. She was sure he was long gone. Frankly, she hoped he left bright and early, caught a flight to Bumfucked Egypt. Something told her he wasn’t a man to cross. She had a feeling she’d done that very thing by leaving without a word this morning. The only hope she had was fate would be kind to her and not place her in the trajectory of his tempestuous wrath.

  She frowned. What was taking the elevator so long? Ah ha! The bell dinged and the door slid open. Damn, the thing was slow, slower even than what Duel warned. Smiling to herself, she slipped in the key-card he gave her. If Duel’s brother was anything like him, she liked him already.

  She gave a startled yelp, too surprised to struggle when Smitt Davis pushed her through the open door, and jerked the key-card from the slot. The doors swished together with a gentle hiss, enclosing them inside.

  He slid the key-card in his pants pocket and turned to face her. The eyes he slid over her were as icy as the North Atlantic Sea.

  Her heart thundered.

  He leaned closer, forcing her back against the wall. “Well, well, sweetheart, alone at last and as usual…you look so damn fuckable.”

  Chapter Nine

  The bad thing about experience is that it teaches you the stuff you don’t want to know.

  ~Unknown

  Double Deuce Casino and Hotel

  Saturday 10:20 a. m.

  Kaycee clasped her hands tightly together to control their trembling. Trapped. Like a butterfly in a net with no escape she was pinned inside the elevator, one that climbed at a horrific slow crawl.

  She concentrated on Smitt. Her stomach lurched at the prospect of spending any amount of time with him in such close quarters.

  Her legs trembled badly. Taking a step back was difficult and would do little good anyway. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Her heart hammered so hard it felt like a herd of horses galloped inside her chest. She should have paid more attention to her surroundings and less time searching for her cowboy.

  Her cowboy?

  She called herself nine kinds of a fool.

  Where was her cowboy when she needed him? She could give up that idea. There was no help on the way, no cowboy to rescue her this time.

  Lord, help me.

  She was alone and she’d have to handle the situation. A face-off with Smitt Davis, this was so not going to be good. Her insides quivered like gelatin, a quaking mass of twitching nerves that shot through her stomach like the tentacles of a jellyfish. She expected her heart to jump right out of her chest any minute.

  Not a soul in the casino had realized she needed help.

  The noise and clanging of the slot machines had masked her short bark of surprise when he shoved her inside the elevator. The over-sized potted plants aided him in concealing his foul deed.

  Just a few floors between the dangers she faced and safety.

  One hundred and twenty floors, she reminded herself—and an elevator that moved as slow as Tim Conway’s depiction of an old man.

  She searched his face for some scrap of humanity and found it sadly lacking. His cruel lips curved with smug superiority. Icy blue eyes bored through her, cold and merciless. His hot gaze defiled her, as if he stripped her bare and left her body exposed to a monster.

  He bared his teeth, yellowed with the stains of coffee and nicotine. Terror grabbed her heart and squeezed with cold, bony fingers. She swallowed hard. She’d always been afraid of him, but never more than at this moment.

  He’d filed his front teeth into sharp, spiky tips, top and bottom. He had fangs for Christ’s sake, rows of unnatural fangs. Never had he looked more ominous or more like a rodent. The sight of those shark-like teeth froze her blood.

  He crowded her into a corner—lessening her personal space—leaving her claustrophobic. A cry died in her throat. She didn’t want to feed the excitement she saw glinting in his eyes. His bold exhibition of courage was just that—a peacock on display. As cunning and treacherous as a rabid animal, he’d succeeded in neatly boxing her in. He was worse than a maddened animal—he’d attack for no reason. She had to do something.

  Say something.

  A verbal clash with him would be better than the alternative of fighting hand to hand with him. A fight she knew she’d lose hands down. An offense was better than a defense. It would make her position stronger. Hopefully, it would make her position stronger.

  “What do you think you’re—?”

  He grabbed a fistful of her hair and slammed the back of her head so hard against the wall she saw stars.

  She realized immediately no offense or defense was ever going to be good enough to defeat this man.

  And this was probably going to get very ugly.

  Looming over her like a black-winged vulture, he drew back his lips in an evil snarl. “You better have my money. Believe me. You won’t like the games I’ll play with you.”

  She blinked, trying to focus her vision. “I don’t have the money! I have no way of getting it.”

  His blue eyes narrowed to slits of icy rage. “Don’t jerk me around, you fucking cunt!” Saliva spewed from his mouth in a fine spray showering her face and neck. “You don’t have it? I have ways for you to earn the money.” He rubbed his crotch, a sly grin on his thin lips. “Every time you get me off…I’ll deduct a hundred dollars from the fifty thousand owed me. Looks like you’ll be years paying me back.”

  She pushed at his wide chest but didn’t budge him. He was tall and powerfully built. “You’re disgusting. Leave me alone.”

  He locked his fingers in the front of her pale blue camisole and yanked her toward him. The narrow lace straps snapped and the neckline plummeted, revealing the top of a thin blue teddy beneath it.

  His sharp gaze fixed on her curves. He licked his lips. “Leave you alone? Now why would I do that? I intend to get my money’s worth one way or another.” He bared his teeth in a macabre grimace. “I own you, little girl, body and soul.” He closed his hand over her breast, squeezing. “Nice body, too. Tits firm as melons.” He smacked his lips together. “Just the way I like ‘em.”

  She slapped his hand and at the same time, rammed her knee upward in a swift attempt to emasculate him. He anticipated her move and quickly sidestepped it. Her knee connected harmlessly against his powerful thigh.

  “Women always go for a man’s balls. Always. You’re so predictable it isn’t even funny. It’s the oldest trick in the book.” He snickered and pulled her toward him. She immediately went on the defensive, raking her nails down one side of his face. Her stomach cramped with nausea at the feel of warm blood and torn flesh beneath her nails. She wondered vaguely if it was one of the oldest tricks in the world also.

  He yelped and snared both her wrists before landing a powerful backhanded blow across her right cheek and nose. He let go of her and she staggered into the wall behind her. White-hot pain stabbed her eyes. She blinked away stinging tears. Her cheek throbbed. The ringing in her ears deafened. Stunned, she raised a trembling hand to her burning cheek.

  “Bitch!” He dabbed at his injured cheek with his fingertips. “That’s going to cost you. I want a taste of the goods. From where I’m standing, you look good enough to eat.”

  She moaned as he snared her left breast with his fingers and viciously twisted. He wrenched harder, silently warning her to stop her struggling. She stilled, petrified of what he might do to her if she fought him again.

  Please God,
please, please get me out of here.

  “I knew you were a smart woman. Smart enough to know not to move when a man has his hand wrapped tightly around her tit.”

  He slid his tongue down her cheek.

  Bile rose to the back of her throat.

  Oh, God, she was going to be sick.

  “A woman’s boobs are a thing of beauty…especially nice, firm ones like these. But in the right hands…they can be instruments of torture.”

  He wrenched her breast tighter and grinned.

  Agonizing pain shot through her breast straight to her nipple. Tears burned her eyes. Her stomach rebelled with nausea. She clawed at his fingers, but to struggle only increased the pain.

  His eyes glittered with dark malice. “That’s just to make my point,” he said. “And to make it clear, I like inflicting pain. I thrive on it. You just learned a very valuable lesson. Don’t make me teach you another one. Understand?”

  Sweat glazed her palms. “Yes.”

  The nausea that had earlier cramped her belly now scalded the back of her throat.

  He relaxed the excruciating hold he had on her, but kept his hand firmly around her breast, massaging it. “Mmm, I been dreamin’ bout your tits for a long time now. We got interrupted last time I had my hands on them, not this time. I bet your nipples are pretty as can be, pink as rosebuds. I could get off just licking them. Don’t move,” he warned. His eyes turned flat and merciless. “Don’t you fucking move! You don’t speak, you don’t whimper, unless I say you do. Understand?”

  She nodded.

  “Say it! Say, I understand, Smitt.”

  “I understand, Smitt,” she repeated shakily.

  He drew her hand to the front of his pants. “Touch me. Feel my cock.”

  She yanked her hand back.

  He pressed her against the wall, one hand closing around her throat, constricting. “It would be so easy to fuck you right here in this elevator. I can be inside you in an instant and shoot my load faster than that. Believe me—I want to. I’ve wanted to do you for over a year. So you’d best cooperate, girlie. Give me a little taste, a bit of fun” His grip on her throat tightened. “If I say touch me, you’d best touch me.”